


A Lesson on Incarcerous

by Ms_Peony_May



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bottom Harry Potter, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, M/M, Mild S&M, Post-Battle, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Public Scene, Severus Snape Lives, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28979859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Peony_May/pseuds/Ms_Peony_May
Summary: It just happened, right there, in class. Harry was terrified but who would've thought it'd end up so sweet.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 16
Kudos: 163





	A Lesson on Incarcerous

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction.
> 
> The dynamic between Harry and Severus is instinctual, but beware of the tags.

The classroom was gloomy, not as much as when Harry had to face a dementor instead of a Boggart, but, still, it was gloomy when Snape was the new teacher. Again. For more than a year if the curse was finally gone. For better or for worse? Harry leaned towards the better. Talk about the person in question, here was Snape in his authoritative glory. 

“What can any of you tell me about Incarcerous?” Harry heard his voice boom in the quiet classroom. His mind jumped back to that one time Snape came barging in like a King towards a throne back in his third year. _Which of you can tell me..._ he had started. Back then it might’ve been a joke to call him a King. But now? Harry tried to think how it must’ve felt like to play pretend with a psychopath for a decade. A whole bloody decade. Surely, such dedication and prowess required Harry to bow down in respect. For a moment or two, he felt bad for acting out as much as he did. 

“What are we? Third years?” Davis. Unsurprisingly, the usual snickers that would’ve followed his comment, where we in fifth or sixth year, were absent. The coward not only ran away during the battle, but is as ignorant and arrogant as if the war was a mere game played in the darker corners of The Three Broomsticks. Harry didn’t want to let his anger bubble up with a slight provocation disguised as a typical classroom banter, as it did since the start of the term. He was sitting on the edge of a seat that was now old and its wood was weak from moss, but he couldn’t help it. On days like this, it was anger daring to cause chaos. On others, it was tears that stained his bedsheets and the sleeves of his robes if it hit him during unfortunate mids of day. The least of them were days where he could openly laugh for the most part the daylight was present. Besides, Davis’ Hufflepuff robes and a Gryffindor tie was enough to anger him anyway. 

“I might as well send you to third years if you deem yourself too smart for this class, Mr. Davis.” Snape drawled, not bothering to glance at the idiot. Harry noted that Snape's usual pale demeanour was near gone, and his face looked brighter, relaxed. In fact, Snape looked at peace. Seven months of not having to answer to any Dark Lords or worrying about keeping the students away from torture or his own death, sentenced by Voldemort himself, did miracles to ones face. 

Harry sat in the dimmer, more hidden corners in most of his classes. Ron was happy to oblige, but Hermione was another matter. He usually sat in the right corner towards the back, looking at the many heads of his classmates before landing on the teachers and the black board behind. He particularly liked his seat in Defense. Especially now, with Snape as their professor. Harry kept his gaze steady on his face.

“Incarcerous, is an incantation that, not only can be used to restrain an opponent, but, with enough patience and practice, can be used for other, quite… pleasing, situations.” Snape said, his voice ruling. Penetrating the quietness and demanding attention without much effort. And it was deep, surpassing the scar and reverberating from some place deeper than any voice should. Something bubbled in his stomach and Harry didn’t want to think if it was yet again a stomach ache, that always happened to appear whenever Snape was within his vicinity. He begged to deny it, but he couldn’t dance around his own lie. He let his eyes travel over the black robes as if he hasn’t memorised how its sleeve reached the knuckle of Snape’s pinkie finger with it facing down. Or how Snape used a spell to keep them above his elbows when brewing so fumes wouldn’t catch the hems. 

_Pleasing situations?_ Harry wondered. He could only think of one way Incarcerous could be pleasing. The past few days were a different kind of torture. His head was filled with erotic stories and scenes, ever since glancing at that bloody book he stumbled on when getting out of bed one morning. Neville, coming back from the bathroom, looked at him then, a blush covering his cheeks when he saw what Harry was staring at “Um, I was recommended this,” he had picked up the book and shoved it into his bed stand. “To deal with all the things from the battle, and all that,” he backed away with a shy smile, quickly dressing up and heading out for breakfast. Harry stood there for a couple of minutes wondering whether he knew Neville at all, who kept surprising him time and time again with the most un-Neville-like things one could think of. 

Then Dean decided to speak up first. “Pleasing, Professor? What, like, making it pleasing for an attacker? Why in the world would I make binding pleasing for an attacker?” Neville, think of the devil, who sat beside Dean, looked at him in disappointment. 

“Not the attacker, you nitwit,” Harry murmured under his breath. Dean was as obtuse as usual, thank Merlin for small mercies, Neville might have made a full one-eighty, but some things stayed the same. He then noticed Snape’s eyes on him. And quickly looked down, denying the existence of butterflies in his stomach. Bloody pests.

“Mr. Potter,” Harry didn’t want to look up. Although they had a long chat after they stumbled upon each other in the graveyard of Godrics Hollow on Halloween evening, Snape still didn’t let go of picking on Harry from time to time. The atmosphere in class changed greatly when they all came back for the final year, so as much as Harry hated it, some habits were welcome, even though they were unpleasant. “It seems to me you can tell Mr. Thomas exactly what point he is missing?” 

Some heads turned toward him, waiting. Except Malfoy. He was too quiet, too subdued since coming back. Or forced to, by the Ministry. Harry tried to talk to him to ease the unease, but supposed six years of rivalry wouldn’t erase itself overnight. If Malfoy chose to ignore him and act as if they didn’t share a _moment_ in his family home or the Room of Requirement, so be it. Glimpses of him eating alone in the great hall and quietly reading books in the library, alone, gnawed at Harry and made him remember his summers and hauntingly quiet nights in the cupboard. The bipolarity of wanting to befriend him and murder him for it made himself promise to try and do _something_ about it in the near future. Harry noticed the quiet and quickly looked away from him and directly faced Snape.

Harry noted the way Snape discreetly glanced between Malfoy and him and answered before any weird conclusions might arrive from him simply thinking. “Are you maybe referring to bondage, sir?” There was tension between them, Harry cursed, in the way Snape’s gaze intensified. 

He kept his face passive, but he was becoming excited. And a flush would be seen on his face, to those with a trained eye. Snape's eyes were definitely trained, or more than that, Harry felt like Snape knew everything about him, his feelings, his thoughts, without having to use Legilimency. Just with that calm yet acute look of his. It was intrusive but arousing if you desired to be seen. He definitely couldn’t ignore the butterflies that turned into bees.

After glancing at the title of the book Neville seemed to be reading back then, _The Art of Submission, By. Arsenius the Wicked_ , Harry felt like he was caught red handed. He later asked Neville to borrow him the book and he thought he should have listened to the hat his first year because Neville looked at him knowingly then and smiled. It wanted to make him run. Neville gave it to him, bookmarked in between the pages of chapter five, about bondage, and said; “I think it will be of great help, Harry. If I found it somewhat liberating, you might end up in Heaven, with what you’ve gone through and all.” and left with a wink. He read the book in one sitting. And then re-read to make sure.

“Mr. Potter, I’m afraid you are correct,” It was unnerving to see Snape smirk at him and speak in a darker tone. “Come here.” Harry gulped. His classmates looked on excitedly. Good old dynamic making everyone forget, even for just a moment. Even Malfoy raised his head, staring at Snape with a frown. 

“Come where?” 

The way Snape just said that, _come here_ , with that deep drawl of his, Harry was starting to get over his head with the kind of images that popped up in his mind. He wondered if he would have answered him by dropping on his hands and knees, and slowly crawling to where the _Professor_ was standing on a slightly raised dais in front of the desks. Doubting whether he would’ve done it even if they were isolated from the rest of the world, he could let himself dream.

He definitely needed to sort out this new obsession of his, of Snape and submission and sadomasochism, and how it would feel to be on his knees. But no matter that they resolved their differences during that fateful chat on Halloween. His head was definitely not in the right place when it came to Snape. _Snape_ , who was his fathers classmate, a Death Eater and is Lucius Malfoy’s best friend, still, for Godrics sake! The last thing he wanted to see in Daily Prophet or hear gossiped in the alleyways of Knockturn Alley is _Harry Potter, discovered pleasure in dungeons?!_

Snape's intensity drilled into him and Harry felt himself flush even more. Looking at that raised brow and the slight lift of his lips into a smug smirk, Harry really didn’t want to come anywhere close to his vicinity.

“Obviously, to the front of the classroom, Mr. Potter. _Don’t make me wait_.” Maybe he shouldn’t have asked Neville for that book. He quickly scanned the classroom and hastily stood up and bumped his hip into the corner of the table. Wincing, he slowly walked around it and started towards his third death. Why would Snape call him to the front when they were talking about bondage? Was he going to do a demonstration? Bollocks, _please_ don’t let it be a demonstration. 

He took a deep breath in and let out a sigh, just as he stopped right in front of his new fixation. Gripping his sweaty palms, he looked up. 

Snape was looking down at him, the gaze so strong, so dark, Harry felt lost. Then Snape put both of his hands on his shoulders and turned him around. The hands felt heavy, grounding and buzzing with magic that was pure _seduction_. Harry’s breath quickened a bit and he glanced at Neville, who looked at him knowingly. What did he know? Was this really going to be a demonstration? He was too embarrassed to look at anyone else, so he looked down.

With a wave of Snape’s hand, the teacher’s desk moved towards the wall. Clearing the daise. 

_Yup, a demonstration_. Harry gulped. And bloody hell, Harry felt Snapes magic seep into his left shoulder where his other hand was still holding him. Snape was powerful. And now, with the war over, he didn’t dare hide it. It felt like, like, Harry imagined, being embraced by scotch and honey in a forest at night would feel like. Godric knows why Harry was so sensitive to magic. With a nervous laugh he guessed having a soul piece ripped away from yours and resurrecting back to life would do that.

“Incarcerous, upon being cast, binds the opponent how we imagine them being bound in our minds. The incantation has its basic form, hence most wizards who have little to add to this spell, will find the spell binding the arms and feet,”Snape said. “But by physically practicing the art of bondage, familiarising yourself with the knots and properties of rope, how to bind and unbind under your control, and having the image of it burned into memory, the possibilities of the incantation surpass its simplicity”

Snape pulled at Harry’s shoulder and pushed him toward where the desk used to stand. Harry’s eyes widened as he looked up at Snape. A protest was already at the tip of his tongue and Harry was quick to draw his wand but Snape extended his hand, nodding at the wand. “Do not fret, Mr. Potter, by now you should know I do not bite.” 

Harry didn’t want to give up his wand. It was Malfoys. He felt a glare from where Malfoy sat, glaring at what was once his. It’s perhaps the first time this semester that he felt a small semblance of the kind of relationship they used to have. It was hard to mistake the fire in his eyes. While he eyed him in return, his wand was quickly pulled out of his hand and he looked back at Snape putting it away in his robes. 

Harry’s breath picked up a notch. He was about to panic. Did this mean he was about to be tied up in front of everyone? Here? For a lesson? 

Snape pointed his wand at him. Harry was definitely panicking now. He glared at the bastard and was ready to protest when Snape’s eyes softened on him, and he gave him a small reassuring smile. _What? Smiling at me?_

“Incarcerous!” Harry’s breath hitched. Pressure, of what felt like dozens of ropes snaking around his body and binding him, doubling him, shrinking him to the floor. He didn’t register the slight pain coming from his knees until he was already doubled over, his chest pressed to his thighs, his arms straight behind his back, bound from shoulder to wrist. Tight, tight, _tight,_ he felt lightheaded. 

His breath felt a bit strained in this position where his lungs couldn’t properly expand and he wanted to speak, but a rope wound itself across his mouth, gagging him. He felt vulnerable and too defenseless for his state. “Pfofeshor! Het me ho!” he tried. He tried and tried, his neck strained from having to look up. This low from the ground, Snape seemed like a pillar. He was breathing hard now, it was only a few seconds since the spell was cast, but it felt like minutes. Minutes turning into hours becoming more and more agonising when his thoughts ran astray, emotions intensified and he didn’t know what to do. Oh, he felt so, _so_ lost. So helpless.

Then Snape quickly bent down and put one hand around his chin to bring his face up to look at him. His other hand gripping his shoulder with a tight grip. Harry didn’t want to cry, but he felt terrified of being bound and left to the mercy of whomever wanted him vulnerable. This, this, whatever it _is_ that he felt, _loss_ , he didn’t know what to do with it, with himself. He had been tirelessly thinking about this exact thing day and night, wondering how it would feel, but it wasn’t anything close to overwhelming. Why did he ask Neville for the bloody book!?

His eyes started to prickle with oncoming tears, and then Snape's hand on his chin tightened. “Mr. Potter,” he said in a low voice. Only for Harry's ears. “Do relax. You’re overwhelming yourself. Listen to me, feel and concentrate,” he said. And Harry, so, so lost, held onto the dark eyes as if it was his only hope and tried to control his breathing. Why was this happening like this? Why now? _How did Snape know?_

Snape didn’t look back at the others, he kept his eyes steady on Harry and waited till his breathing slowed and eyes drooped, mostly tired from having to feel so much. 

“This, is called Hojojustu. Used in 17th century Japan to brutally torture criminals and prisoners. This binding, displayed by Mr. Potter, was used to seamlessly bind and overwhelm. They were left like this for days or weeks until breaking the mind and extracting information. Or… delivering torture.” Snape smirked as he spoke, some shying away from staring at Potter and others uncomfortably running their eyes at anything but them.

And as Harry let his eyes close, he reveled in the firm, almost burning touch on his shoulder. Somehow, in the darkness of his eyelids, it felt good. It was _there_ , on his shoulder, when Harry felt like he would crumble. After everything he had endured for years, it came back to taunt him and its laughter came wearing the face of one Sirius Black. He wanted to cry. He had been wondering since the death of his Godfather whether he was the one who was loved by the only person he thought family, or if it was James. Because Sirius did call him James then, didn’t he? Death didn’t only take his only hope that day, it made him realise what he had was a mere illusion. That Harry had no hope.

His loneliness was in everything. It was there during the Tournament, when he was thrust into whatever chaos caused by the Dark. When he was the Heir of Slytherin, when his best friend abandoned him during their hunt, when no-one believed the Dark Lord was back, when his summers left him afraid if his life as a wizard was nothing but a dream. Something must’ve been wrong if the least lonely he felt was in the clearing of the Forbidden Forest, begging for reassurance that everything would be fine from the dead. It was a shock at the revelation of all the secrets that made up most of his life. Sadness from having to leave his friends, relief at the upcoming end of his side of the battle, anger at everything and everyone that caused this suffering and constant ache...

So many thoughts were passing through his head. He looked at Snape again. He could only look at him. With those eyes on him, those knowing eyes that looked at him without holding back, at _him_ , the _Harry_ , Harry doubted anyone knew. And the hand on his shoulder that squeezed again brought him back like a hard slap. He felt grounded. 

As if he was alone, in the forbidden forest, but instead of the ghosts of his past, there was him. With his hand squeezing his shoulder and moving to his upper arm as if to say it was okay. Snape, who he somehow started to see in a different light. 

Harry relaxed, his limbs feeling weak but tingly and he let his head drop. Snape stood up and addressed the class. “This is one of many ways of bondage. It is possible solely after having practiced binding manually. A powerful skill, if only you have enough patience to learn,” The class was surprisingly quiet, possibly because no one, not even Slytherins, with all kinds of rumours ranging from nasty to sexual branding their house, have ever seen something so wicked be taught in the classroom. Only a few picked up on sudden intimacy.

Despite his mind raging like a thunderstorm in the middle of the ocean, and feeling helpless to do much about it, as if he was tied to a post of a ship that broke enormous waves around lightning, Harry felt grounded by the imprint of the palm on his shoulder. He was so confused he didn’t know whether to cry, scream, whimper or beg for this to end or never end. But he guessed Snape infused magic into the touch, because he could feel it, just there, blanketing his shoulder like a caress. Snape was strong, and Harry didn’t know whether to feel threatened or amazed that this person was the spy that stood beside Voldemort for years, that stood amongst his Death Eaters like death itself and lied to the face of the most insane but nevertheless, powerful wizard. 

Swallowing his saliva around the rope in his mouth, it went down his throat like honey, slowly calming his breathing and his mind. He kept his eyes closed, head bowing down in what felt like submission. Harry was flabbergasted. He should be fighting the pressure, calling to his core for the magic to release him. Bound in front of all of his classmates, he should feel angry from this humiliation. He should allow himself to blow up the windows and beakers and small cages full of pixies to get his defiance across. Yet his mind drifted to his bloody shoulder. 

He felt Snape’s magic reach out towards him. Head, arms, then chest and the rest of him. Like a lover's caress, so soft and lulling, yet with a spice of danger, enticing like… what he imagined it would be like to bow down and have to kiss the shoe of a King. It reached deeper, seeping into his skin and blood, until it touched his core and his magic sparked around him in answer, pleading for more and more and more.

“Kinbaku, on the other hand, aside from its savage counterpart, is sexual in nature. Regardless, it is useful and will perfectly bind anyone the spell is directed at. Knowing it, will be beneficial for _any_ kind of binding you wish to perform,” Snape said, looking left and right to face the students. Though Harry knew he kept him most in mind.

“Knowing Hojojutsu, however, gives you power over any scoundrel you may encounter. And the skill would be more than useful to any of you here, after all, the war isn’t completely over yet.” Unease spread like plague. Death eaters who escaped, dark creatures who followed Voldemort into battle, enraged families who have lost their children seeking revenge… it wasn’t wise for anyone to forget it. 

Harry’s chest constricted. He didn’t want to think about it, he didn’t want to remember. For once in his life, he wanted to forget the good and the bad and just be himself. Snape’s words stabbed at many who were here now. He swallowed around the rope again. He felt close to breaking. Snape must’ve noticed it too, so he seeped more of his magic into him, enveloping Harry in a cocoon. 

“Overall, knowledge of different bondage in casting Incarcerous is a perfect example of two sides of a coin, neither is powerless and both are handy.” Snape finished.

Harry melted against the ropes, his skin tingling everywhere from his fingertips to his nipples and oh. _oh._ His cheeks burned. Snape then continued with the lesson but Harry didn’t listen, didn’t register his voice because here in the Defense classroom, on the dais, he was tied up, with everyone else in the room, tingling everywhere, submerged in powerful magic and his cock hard, like a blushing virgin. And bloody hell, he _was_ a virgin. 

And nevermind that he was terrified some time ago, about to cry remembering all the deaths and his own death and the ruin of Hogwarts that was burnt into his retinas. He almost didn’t believe it happened because here he was now. Aroused from the magic, from being bound by Snape and kneeling on the floor in this vulnerable position with a bloody rope gagging his mouth, wet from his saliva. It felt like submission, because he wasn’t fighting it. Wasn’t reaching out to his magic to end this ridicule. So he submitted. And this was exactly what he read about. 

_Showing deference to an authority figure or an older, experienced, more powerful witch or wizard may reward you with pleasure and control unlike any other. And you may be gifted peace and blossom into beauty, inaugurating yourself from immaturity. Is there a greater gift than this? One can only think of one other..._

_...A dominant may present a collar to a submissive he wishes to own_. 

Oh, Harry realised. Oh, how he wanted to be owned. He further gave into the pressure of the rope and let his mind float. It was bliss, he realised. If he knew it was possible to fly just by submitting to power and authority, he would’ve stopped fighting at age one. Though in the end, he knew it was Snape. Snape that made this anywhere near feasible. He took notice of every small push Snape’s magic made against his skin. Focused on every tingle that kissed his skin. He was completely aware of his body, skin, every cell buzzed with raw power and his mind was shut down. It was peaceful and calm. And how amazing this was. His chest bloomed. 

And he must’ve made a sound, maybe a low whimper, because despite his closed eyes, it was darker, so he peeked. Snape's black robes were in front of him and he must’ve dismissed the class, as he heard sounds of chairs being dragged on the floor and books and rolls of parchment being shoved into bags. Students leaving the class, although this time around, with much hesitance and reluctance. He didn’t argue it. He himself never wanted to move an inch from this position. The class must’ve been entertaining.

He didn’t realise much time had passed. 

A few more minutes of murmurs and ‘ _Thanks Professor_!’s and silence followed. Snape turned around and bent down in front of him, his hand back on Harry’s chin, pulling his face up. Harry looked up with lidded eyes and Snape's breath hitched. It was an unusual sight to behold. His other hand softly cupped his cheek. “Exquisite,” Snape breathed. His hand moved to brush back his hair that was a bit wet from sweat. “You are charming in your freedom, Potter.”

Harry was astounded. Never in a million years he thought he’d hear Snape’s voice so sensuous. Snape never speaks without meaning every word of what he says. And to have _this_ directed at him instead of past grudge and bitterness, he closed his eyes and let out a low moan. 

“How do you feel?” Snape asked, his thumb tracing Harry’s lips and pushing into his mouth to remove the rope. Harry licked his lips and took a swallow. Having Snape's full attention on him, when he was at his weakest, brought out in him something… he couldn’t name. It was mellow, merciful, something that can be only his. Maybe this is what Submission was. Something he gave and possessed whatever was given back. The feeling was as light as a feather, but also dark around the edges, because this possession, this loss of control that was in reality nothing but control, this wanting to have Snape before him, caressing him, feeding him magic, this laser focus and dark eyes and black silky hair and the robes that smelled of sandalwood and cedar, he wanted to possess it all.

With a small lift of his lips he said “Professor,” under his breath. “I want you.” Because he wanted. His cock was hard. He felt high on the caress and he wanted to touch. So he tried and tried to wiggle out of the binding and this time he did reach out to his core. His magic, pushing against the ropes that no matter how his magic responded to his frustration, didn’t let go. It danced with Snape’s magic surrounding him. Intermingling so intricately, it was raw and beautiful. 

Snape let out a chuckle. “Relax, Potter, or I might want to punish you.” he said and pushed his fingers into Harry’s mouth. 

“Suck.” Plain and simple. So Harry sucked on his long fingers that held the knife to cut ingredients and glass rod to stir. Passing his tongue in between them to properly cover them wet. “Aren’t you being obedient, Potter. What a surprise,” said Snape. Pushing on his tongue and down his throat. It was uncomfortable and so humiliating, but he’d never been so aroused and felt so sexy. He gagged a bit and Snape eased on him, chuckling. 

“What do you want, Potter? Tell me and I will reward you.” Snape’s voice was gruff and the things it did to him! A hand roughly pulled on his hair and the skin on his neck tensed. His heart sang _I want you I want you I want you_ and just as he was about to say it again he gagged on Snape's hard cock as it broke into his mouth, pushing until his nose touched skin and he breathed in musk and cedar. He looked up at Snape and his breath was lost somewhere along the way. 

Snape looked like he wanted to devour him. His magic seeped into every pore of his skin and Harry knew that Snape was in his mind when every corner of it was consumed by raw devotion.He whimpered around it until Snape pulled back slowly and pushed back in fast. 

Slowly pulling out until the tip was by his lips and roughly back in, choking Harry. “Just as I thought you were a good boy, Potter, you refuse to answer my question.” Out and back in. Again, and again. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks and saliva was dripping down his chin. It was so humiliating how Snape used his mouth that used to spit fire and ungrateful words. But it was so arousing. Harry wanted more and he screamed in his mind just how much he wanted. _Please_ he begged. _Please please use me, break me!_

He knew Snape heard it, he was there, in his mind. Stripping his pride and arrogance, selflessness, his anger and grief with his cock, pushing it down his throat and not letting him breathe. Penetrating every inch of his mind with his billowing black robes and stripping his defenses, pushing away all the pesky thoughts and memories with a flick of his hand and filling it with the present moment, weaving up a connection. Only letting him feel and feel until his mind was cracking and crumbling to pieces. He couldn’t breathe.

“Be a good boy Potter, and let go,” the words reverberated everywhere and he came, just as it commanded. His blood pulsed with magic and his lungs starved for air and he thought he was going to die here if not in the forest. His muscles spasmed as much as they could within the bindings and his rigid cock ached, pressed between his thighs, burst and leaked until he had nothing left in him. 

Snape was still deep down his mouth, and stayed until he pushed it as deep as it was able to go for the last time and came. Harry felt so lightheaded he almost didn’t mind the cock in his throat, until he felt spunk flow down and choke him. He tried swallowing it with the tip that still rested there, but it was too much, too little air, and Snape knew. So he pulled back and let Harry cough it out and take lungfuls of air. It was agony. Embarrassing, the spit and spunk dribbling out of his mouth was disgusting. The feral grin that was on Snape's face made him want to lick up whatever he didn’t manage to swallow. But it was pure bliss. If he was on rock bottom, what did it matter how he showed his gratitude? 

“Good boy, Potter, you did very well,” Snape softly said and the ropes disappeared with a wave of his hand. Despite the obscenity of how he pounced on him like a hunter, the care was unmistakable in his voice and tender hands.

“Are you here with me?” Snape picked him up from the floor and held him close. 

Harry didn’t know. He couldn’t think. He could just feel. And he felt bloody amazing. He was floating. His muscles felt like someone cast a jelly jinx so he just breathed and relaxed into the unexpected soft embrace. Eyes on Snape, who was looking down at him with such attention, he felt his insides melt from the care that Snape wasn’t afraid to show. For once in his bloody life, he could rely on someone to care for every inch of him. 

“I do care for you, Harry,” Snape said in a low voice, that told more than what it could possibly mean.

Harry teasingly mumbled in reply; “Stop reading my mind, Professor.” 

“Just close your eyes and enjoy it.” his chuckle was sweet and Harry did close his eyes. 

He was in Snape's arms, surrounded in warmth. He wanted to stay like this for as long as he could. He then remembered a passage from the book and without hesitance he asked the question, giddy like a child receiving a Christmas gift, because who was he if not a selfish man who wanted to have and to possess what was given to him? 

“Will you own me?” He whispered, somewhere from his haze. Snape was leaning against the headboard of his bed with Harry laying between his legs. With one arm embracing him and the other rounding on Harry’s neck in search of eye contact, Snape looked at him with such passion Harry didn’t need to hear the answer.

“Don’t I already?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a stand alone written with a possibility of adding a prequel or other stories to make up a series. 
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed and would like to read more ;)


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